Showing all posts tagged parenting

I am not widely considered to be a funny person, but I have found that making my kids laugh is one of the most underrated joys of parenthood.

It also happens to be the perfect antidote for my own bad moods.

We’re a little more than halfway through spring break and the kids are very PRESENT. With me 24-7. And I’m an introvert. I REALLY like my time alone.

You can see the potential for conflict here.

But lately, I’ve been reminded of a delightful truth: grace can even take the form of humor.

When I’m my most cranky and selfish – the moments when I want to go hide in a long bath, read my novel, and paint my toenails over and over again – those are the times when I find that humor helps the most.

And how does a non-funny woman become a comic for her kids?

I do something out of character.

A case in point: I have been known to dab for laughs.

I know, I know – it’s a 2015 move. (I think?) It’s not au courant. Cam Newton and the rest of the cool people have moved on. But that’s why it’s funny.

Do things your kids think you don’t know about in an untimely fashion (and out of the sight of their friends) and they’ll think you’re hilarious.

A few weeks back, it was just me and my two boys at dinner. The conversation was not award-winning and my mood could generally be described as testy, so to counter its effects I did the unthinkable – I dropped my fork and punctuated a sentence with a dab.

Four eyebrows were raised.

“Mom?!” they asked incredulously as I went back to eating.

“What’s up with you?!” I asked them, dropped the fork again, and jerked my arms back toward the ceiling.

They started to choke in fits of giggles. So I kept it up, telling them about something (I don’t even remember what), and ending each sentence with the trademark move.

Milk and water were snorted and tomato sauce spilled on the floor.

Silliness won the day.

And grace won too.

Like so many adults, I get caught up in my thoughts rather than allow myself to just move freely from one moment to the next, embracing the possible spark of joy that each moment holds.

I spend so much time considering the past or ruminating on the future that I miss the NOW.

So this spring break, I’m trying to allow humor to work its magic, because the joy I give to others bounces back and rejuvenates me.

My youngest is whining and says he’s bored, and man, I hate it when he does that. I tackle him as he walks by me, pin him to the floor, and tickle him until he shrieks in laughter.

My tween daughter is making a private Musically video to “Firework” AGAIN, and so I act it out with her, throwing myself in front of her iPad camera like I’m Katy Perry gone psycho.

Tired of the same-old, tired of yourself, and tired of your own foul mood?

Mix it up and and do something I’m sure you’ve done at some point before.

Surprise the ones you love with a move that’s hilariously out of (your) character. It’s a gesture of spiritual generosity you’re not likely to regret.

For the most part, my kids hang together well. But other days I worry about whether they’ll be on speaking terms when they grow up. They bicker and taunt each other. They mimic one other until someone is yelling and slamming a door. Sarcastic comments have led to hurt feelings. They are not unique kids; they are American siblings. And I am always listening to my own inner voice that tells me when I need to intervene and when I shouldn’t. It’s a learning process for all of us.

Then – once in awhile – they surprise me completely.

Saturday, my 12 year-old daughter and I were in Pittsburgh for an Irish dance competition. She was tired because we’d gotten in late the night before, and after lunch she still had two dances to go when I told her:

“Don’t use up the tank on this third one. Save it. And then just give it all you’ve got for hornpipe.”

Hornpipe was the dance she wanted to win. She’d been dancing well all day, but this last dance was the one she needed to finish off her current level and move closer to becoming a champion.

“Mom,” she said, “You’re really bad at giving pep talks.”

“What?!!” I feigned surprise.

She smiled.

“You don’t want to hear from me?” I continued, knowing full well she really doesn’t, but by that exhausted point, I was clueless about what to say next.

“How about Dad? Does he give good pep talks?”

“Not really.”

“Huh. Who does?”

Then – shocker of them all – she mentioned her older brother.

“Really?!!? What does he say?” I couldn’t imagine a 15-year old being a font of wisdom.

Giggling for the first time in hours she said, “Stuff like, ‘Kick the dancer in front of you.’”

“Oh!” I laughed, “That would never occur to me.”

“Of course not, Mom! You’re you.”

She got in line for her third dance and I texted her brother, saying his words were needed.

Right away he responded with this.

I stared at my phone like it was the best Christmas present I’d ever received.

You are going to do great…I have faith in you…

Did I read that right?

I read it again. And again.

After she came back, I handed her my phone and told her to call her brother. She snatched it with gusto.

A few minutes later she returned, laughing and smiling broadly. Her brother’s encouragement strengthened the words of his text, and hearing his voice soothed her soul. Just like that – he had completely changed her day.

Parents are a family’s leaders. But we often feel sidelined, taken for granted, and forgotten. Most of our work is unseen. While we may ultimately be remembered for the jobs we dutifully perform to provide, to feed, to enable participation and so forth, we are seldom thanked for the even more important work we do: building character in our kids, and showing them how to forge relationships in their lives.

When was the last time you heard a kid say, “Thank you for teaching me forgiveness and gratitude. I really love my sister/brother”?

Yet this is what we do, every time we speak to our kids about whywe treat one another with respect and love, and whywe expect them to behave with decency and goodness.

Instilling virtue in kids is like throwing cooked spaghetti at the wall. Do it enough and eventually a piece sticks.

Or so I keep telling myself.

It had been awhile since I’d seen a reminder that this was still truth.

My daughter’s hornpipe dance was absolutely beautiful – probably the best I’d ever seen her do it. And her smile and posture – my gosh….She was on fire with joy.

In the end, she got fourth place. Not the first she wanted, but she had no regrets and had made no mistakes. Judging is a little subjective, and she’ll get her first another day.

And on that day, her brother will be cheering for her while I root for the two of them, from the sidelines.

My oldest is a high school freshman, and since it’s September, we’re in a transition time. Last night things got pretty intense. The workload reached a crescendo and there was a math test scheduled for this morning. He got home from crew practice at 6:30, plunged right into his work, and was cursing loudly in frustration – way up in his room – by the time dinner was ready at 7:30. I knew we were in for a long night.

But rather than let him tough it out, I proposed a different solution. “Bring it down to the kitchen,” I said. “Let’s look at it together.”

He knew I wouldn’t do it for him. And the truth was, the content was not at all beyond his capability. And I told him so.

“You know this stuff. You can do it. You just don’t like the quantity or the methodology.”

All in all – across two subjects – it was about 8 pages, required to be handwritten, and admittedly, his handwriting is abysmal.

What to do for him?

Just BE with him.

I fell back on a lesson I learned fourteen years ago.

In 2003, our extended family lost a precious member, my husband’s cousin, P.J.. I’ve written about the loss of him before. After the funeral, P.J.’s mother (my husband’s aunt) asked us to bring our son (the same one now doing homework) to their home where the family was gathering informally. We ended up being the last guests there. Our infant son fell asleep on Aunt Karen and Uncle Jim’s bed while the four of us stood over him watching – for what may have been 15 minutes – in silence.

I called my mom the next day.

“I didn’t know what to say,” I told her, “The grief is unimaginable. They just lost their son. I can only imagine they were thinking about him as they looked at ours. I had no words to console them.”

My mom replied, “Just being present is a ministry.”

I have never forgotten that.

Just being present to someone in need is a ministry.

So last night, I was fully present to my son.

No phone.

No books.

Nothing but him and me.

I made tea for him – with lemon and honey.

Gave him cookies.

Reminded him to breathe.

Read the directions to him again and again, but didn’t do the work for him.

Told him stories from my high school days to make him smile and reassure him that yes, he will survive even this.

And I lasted with him until bedtime at 11:00 – 1 1/2 hours later than usual for him.

This got my attention. And what he’d said was so much more interesting than TheWashington Post article I was reading about the latest hate-filled thing Donald Trump had said.

I looked up from the paper, over the lunch dishes, and across the table at my 5-year old son.

“You do?”

“Yes,” he continued, “with me all the time.”

“Oh! That’s right,” I replied in a sing-song mommy voice, now remembering the special book he’d been taught at the beginning of the school year.

Fill a Bucket by Carol McCloud explains that we all carry a bucket with us each day. It can be filled with good things or bad things, and its contents are mostly determined by us. Yet we can help others fill their buckets by speaking to them kindly and showing love through our actions. Others can do the same for us. Negative words and the like have the opposite effect – they empty peoples’ buckets. But the secret jewel in living life knowing about these invisible buckets, is that you can enrich your own – that is, you can fill your own bucket – by filling others’ with love.

For whatever reason, I wasn’t feeling especially loving that day, and the article I was reading was probably draining my bucket a bit. But the good news is that the work we do as parents day in and out can pay off when we least expect it.

“So,” I said, “What’s in your bucket today?”

He climbed down from his chair, took a couple steps over and put his face very close to mine.

“So much goodness.”

I wrapped my arms around him, buried my face in his neck, and kissed his little ears and cheeks until he wriggled free, giggling, “Mommy, Stop! Stop! Stop!”

My bucket was filled for days.

May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.

I went into my son’s room just now to get this picture. My focus was really going to be on those two albums to the right – by TobyMac and Skillet. But one of our dogs followed me in and the picture turned out this way, which I think is kind of cute.

See how her right ear is flipped out? She’s a dog in motion, about to leave the frame to go sniff the pile of dirty clothes behind her and then settle in on that pillowy blue chair on the left side of the photo – all because these things are comfortable smells that remind her of my son. She likes to be around him. So do I.

And that’s a great thing. I’m savoring it because he’s 12 and I’m not sure what the teen years will bring. But I can tell you what he and I share right now. Music.

I was taking him to Tae Kwon Do practice last week, when “We Won’t Be Shaken” by Building 429 came on the radio. My son absentmindedly began singing. Strangely, the car was quiet. His siblings were both lost in their own thoughts. My son didn’t realize I was listening to him. Singing. Every. Word. Right. To. The. End.

When you finish reading here, click on the YouTube link below and listen. Perhaps you’ll understand why I was hiding my eyes, filled with tears of joy, when he hopped out of the car a minute or so later.

When my kids are in the car, I listen to either Christian or classical music, with few exceptions. Yes, I enjoy other genres of music and need my daily dose of news (when young ears aren’t listening), but I like the atmosphere that this music creates as we go about our activities together. And I also believe that the media we consume has an effect on what we feel, think, and become.

Scripture confirms this.

“The lamp of the body is the eye. If your eye is sound, your whole body will be filled with light; but if your eye is bad, your whole body will be in darkness. And if the light in you is darkness, how great will the darkness be.” (Matthew 6:22)

The things we look at, read, and examine closely make their way into the fabric of our being and either work for good, or not. The books we read, shows we watch, music we hear, people we spend time with, matter. We need to choose wisely.

When I was about my son’s age, my dad gave me some Christian music that I listened to frequently. He had taken some time to figure out what was popular with young people in the 80s, and made selections that he thought I might like. He did a good job. The words of those songs made their way into my heart. I didn’t stay with the faith through my tumultuous teen and college years, but the lyrics I had learned and the Truth they spoke of, never left me. And when I was finally ready to turn toward the loving whisper that was gently beckoning me, I knew those songs had played an important role in my faith formation. To this day, “El Shaddai” by Amy Grant is still one of my favorites.

So, I’m listening to the radio, and to my kids, paying attention to which artists, both secular and Christian, they are responding to. And I’ve gone out on a limb and bought my son, and my daughter, CDs I think they’d enjoy with messages I’d like them to hear. I’ve been blessed for my efforts, because they are playing those CDs, singing along, engraving Truth on their hearts without even realizing it. Some of this music isn’t exactly my taste, but it’s definitely grace in action.

sonatina (n.) – a musical composition, a short version of a sonata, which consists of three or four independent movements varying in key, mood and tempo.

I’m at my daughter’s piano lesson. Her teacher is coaching her through her very first sonatina, and they have been replaying a tiny section for 20 minutes now. The teacher, firmly but lovingly instructs in Russian-accented English. She softly sings the melody, claps out the changing tempo, encourages, challenges, compliments…

“Your goal is to play correctly……So beautiful….Let’s grow through this phrase….Good job…..Listen…..Okay, start again. Concentrate……Crescendo will come….Just relax….Don’t rush……Good…Ok, not so loud. How will you grow?…..Again, look just ahead…..Very nice!!”

They are building upon the sections my daughter has learned in the past few weeks, and on skills she has acquired in her four years of music study. My daughter is 9, and her teacher and I have discussed this many times: the goal here is not to produce a professional musician. The goal is to foster the love of music my girl was born with, and to inspire within her a lifelong appreciation of this particular art.

Yet, my daughter also seems to have an ability for this instrument, an aptitude, maybe a gift. I don’t want her to squander it by ignoring it in favor of short-term pursuits. But in her immaturity, she goes back and forth between listening to me and ignoring me. And she has a short attention span – not long-range vision. So I remind her to, and on occasion make her, practice. Then practice a little more. See, I think she could play for her family, friends, or a church far into the winter of her life.

And this – this lifelong ideal of musical love and development – is why gentle encouragement is so important. If her teacher and I push her too hard, there’s a very real risk she’ll lose her joy for playing. And if it sounds like I’m overthinking this, it’s because I know I could so easily push my expectations and hopes onto this child, and I also know that in all likelihood, I will (or have already) said the wrong thing to her at some point. The voices she hears in her mind as she plays echo those she hears as she learns.

I’m sure I’ve failed in my pursuit to find the perfect balance between affirmation and pressure. But I keep going, believing I’m a better mother for focusing on mygoal, which was affirmed for me once again in my Bible study this morning while reading these verses.

Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

– Philippians 3:12-14

The fact is – I am a work in progress. My life is about growing up and into the state I’ve been called to live in – holiness. And I don’t say that in a lofty sort of way, because I believe everyone is called to holiness. We are designed, from before our very conception, to seek union with God in Heaven, and in this life, all our other attempts to find complete satisfaction and perfection will fail. So until my time comes, I press forward, keeping my eyes on this prize.

If I were left alone to strive for holiness, I would be making even more cacophonous noise in my life than I already do. Because though I may sometimes say the right things to my daughter, for example, my words alone don’t reveal the full intentions of my heart. As a sinner, my heart and mind continue to mess up, because I stubbornly continue to rely on my strength to be a ‘good’ mother, wife, friend, or Christian.

But I’m not alone. My Teacher, the one who sings me the tunes I’m trying to play and coaxes me through endless repetitions of sticky, challenging, and seemingly redundant notes in a life that constantly changes tempo, mood, and key, is faithfully patient. Best of all, He is forgiving – endlessly willing to start with me again when I make mistakes and don’t practice what I’m learning. The Holy Spirit nudges me to pass on the treasures of these holy lessons …to a daughter who listens, albeit imperfectly – just like me.

One of the things I love most about being a parent is the random conversation. You know – the one that happens at that strangest time?

The other night, I was helping my youngest out of his bath when we had this one. I wrote it down for posterity’s sake.

“Mommy, do you know everyone in the world?”

“No!” I chuckle. “No. Not even close.”

“But everyone knows Jesus.”

‘Wow – what a segue,’ I think.

“No, Honey. Everyone doesn’t.”

I think for a beat or two.

“But we do. Hmm – what do you know about Him?”

“He’s powerful.”

“Yes. What else?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you think he feels when he looks at you?”

Partially wrapped only in his towel, he looks up at me with a wet face and tousled hair, and breaks into a full-face grin.

“Happy!!”

I can’t help but smile broadly too. My little man feels unconditionally loved. And he is. He truly, truly is.

Then, a couple verses of Scripture spring to mind:

Jesus…called the children to himself and said, “Let the children come to me and do not prevent them; for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these….” – Luke 18:17

Oh – if we could just approach Him with this same expectation that we would be received unconditionally….

“With age-old love I have loved you” – Jeremiah 31:3

I know, I know. Why do I still allow doubt to creep in?

What was that other verse – the one from Song of Songs? I get my Bible and look it up. The book will make you blush, but it’s a love story between God and His beloved – His people – and He’s speaking to every single one of us, beckoning us to union with Him.

It feels wonderful to read this, to have knowledge of where to turn to find it. And the more I see the big picture, the more I understand that the Old and New Testaments together are one big love story to the world – and to me. But as I read, I’m also aware of all the pages in my Bible with which I’m not familiar. And I sense that I’m being called – again.

Today, I’m studying in Hebrews when this pops out:

“Everyone who lives on milk lacks experience of the word of righteousness, for he is a child. But solid food is for the mature, for those whose faculties are trained by practice to discern good and evil.” – Hebrews 6:13-14

My son’s understanding of Jesus is absolutely correct, but he has more to learn. He needs to mature. And although I have been a Christian for many years, this verse is an exhortation to my spiritual renewal, too. I can’t rest on what I know and expect to deepen my relationship with Christ. Like any relationship, this one requires attention, care, and a desire to learn more about the other person. Friendships and marriages become stale and fall apart when the individuals involved fail to keep pursuing one another. And since my God, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever” (Hebrews 13:8), I can count on Him not giving up on his end. That leaves the rest to me.

It’s Lent. A perfect time to consider ways to recommit myself to Christ. If my heart, mind, and soul look the same now as they did last Lent, or the ones before, I have work to do. The Bible is a large tome. Time to dig in.

Yesterday, a fire in a very large waterfront home tragically took the lives of 4 children (cousins from 2 different families) and 2 adults, their grandparents. I heard about it midday, when a beloved friend called – very, very upset. Her kids were friends with those kids, and she would have to deliver unthinkable news…

I don’t know the families, had never met the children or their grandparents, but….well, I guess when you have kids, this kind of news is just especially gut wrenching. So awful. Devastating. How would I as a parent, feel? Instinctively, I hold my breath just imagining the sudden free-fall into darkness. I reel like this every time a story hits, literally, “so close to home.”

I look at the barren trees this morning and in my mind hear my youngest son’s words: “The trees are sleeping.” That’s what he said, back in the fall, when the preschool class was learning about seasons, and I immediately fell in love with the analogy – perfect for a 4-year old and 42-year old alike.

A cold, dreary winter combined with sad news can make people huddle and hide, withdrawing from the light. Right now, we can’t see it for all the bleak grayness of the world, but something new and beautiful will be visible in time. I have faith. I believe. I will hold a candle for those who can’t right now. I believe – in Him.

We had a great Christmas. And then, just as regular routines were to return (and I hoped to begin writing again), things went topsy turvy. I’ll spare you the details, but over the last 8 days – one very long week – our household experienced the flu, strep throat, a broken dryer requiring immediate replacement, a small but inconvenient snowstorm, and a birthday – celebrated over 3 days. My thoughts on the birthday, and how it initiated my plan for the new year, is the topic of this blog post – long overdue.

So – my oldest child turned 12 last week. My kids’ birthdays always give me pause. Each one is a moment to reflect on the fact that with every passing year, this particular child is showing us more of who he or she is meant be. But this birthday – 12 – somehow felt like a milestone (and not because my son jokingly told me to say he’s “twelve-teen”).

I remember being 12. 6th grade. Switching classes for the first time. Dealing with a changing body. My school’s motto for the year was, “If It’s Going to Be, It’s Up to Me” and my English teacher, Mrs. Walker, had plastered these words in huge red letters to the classroom ceiling. She wanted us to remember this, to have confidence in ourselves.

But with maturity comes the realization that we can’t really solve every problem we encounter, make everything “be” just the way we’d like it to be. Some things are always beyond our reach.

To illustrate, I must first acknowledge what every parent learns eventually – that it’s strange, humbling, and frustrating when you see that your kids have inherited some of your traits. I’ve known for years that my oldest cannot see a disturbing image, even for a second, without internalizing it. Just like mine, his mind will revisit the image and animate it through nightmares for days on end until it has finished with it. The process is upsetting and tiring, and after 42 years, I’ve never found a way to bypass or stop it, except by avoiding media that contains content I suspect will incite the problem.

So, just a few days before his 12th birthday, he had nightmares 2 days in a row after seeing 1 still image for an upcoming horror movie. My husband and I talked to him about what his brain was doing, made him laugh, took his mind off things, and I prayed with him. On the third night, he asked me to pray with him preemptively, before he went to sleep, and that night (and the nights after) the nightmares did not return.

If the genetic patterns hold true for him, then the vivid dreams that have plagued me will not be just a childhood occurrence for this kid. They will persist and grow more mature as he matures, encompassing all the sights and sounds of an evil world and fears of an adult mind.

So what can I do for my son? I help him understand our faith and teach him to pray for strength and courage to fight foes – imaginary and real, but beyond that, where do I go?

In prayer, the answer came.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.

– 2 Timothy 1:7

My son is venturing into the adolescent years, and this world would have me be fearful of events to come and what could happen to him. Currently, these are my imaginary foes, and if I let it, my mind can go to some very dark places. But I am not going to sit by and worry about my son and the challenges that lie ahead for him. I choose to trust in the One who loves my son more than me, and so I will ask my Lord to guide and protect my precious child.

Further, praying the Word of God is praying the Will of God. I pray for my kids, yes, but I want to be quite clear. So, remembering an article I read recently, I took some time to carve out a daily prayer plan for this year, encompassing specific verses of scripture for my sons and daughter, and entrusting them once again to the One for whom nothing is out of reach.